The Project Must Go Forward
by Senmut
Summary: Hurled down the stairs by a vengeful Krycek, Cancer Man at last meets his doom. Or does he?


=======================  
  
The Project Must Go Forward  
  
=================================  
  
It grew dark as he lay there at the bottom of the stairs, tangled in  
  
the wreck of his wheelchair, neck broken, his life ebbing ever weaker,  
  
ever further away. Even now, his body craved nicotine, but he could not  
  
move. He could not rise. He could barely breathe through the hole in his  
  
throat. He opened his eyes, his body wracked with pain, and watched the  
  
sunbeams on the rug move slowly away, darkness filling the room.  
  
He didn't know how long he lay like this, waiting for death. He  
  
lamented it all. His personal failures, the deaths of the few whom he  
  
could call friend, above all the failure of the Project. It was all for  
  
nothing, now. Nothing mattered anymore. Not even...  
  
He heard a faint sound, like a rush of air, then a footstep. Someone  
  
was here, in the house. Who? Had Krycek returned, to finish him off? To  
  
make sure? As he pondered, even beginning to think about God, something  
  
moved in front of his eyes. A face. Who? A man's, but... Not Krycek. Not  
  
Mulder. Who...  
  
"Well," said a voice, and he felt himself lifted from the floor. "It  
  
would seem we have come to a bad end, old friend. Or nearly so." The  
  
newcomer hauled him to his feet, feet that no longer answered to his  
  
will, and looked into his eyes.  
  
"Who...?" he croaked, barely able to speak. He tried focusing on the  
  
face, but his brain was tired. Better to just die, now. "I don't  
  
know...you."  
  
"Ah, but you do," said the other, and as he spoke, his eyes changed.  
  
They began to shimmer, then to glow red. "We've known each other, you and  
  
I. For a long, long time."  
  
"Uhh..hh.." gasped the dying man, but the eyes were gone. He felt a  
  
terrible pain in his throat, something sinking like needles into his  
  
necrotizing flesh. He tried to scream, but could not draw even the breath  
  
for that. Slowly, sickeningly, he felt what little life was left to him  
  
being drawn out, stolen, sucked away. His mind reeled, as the sensations  
  
went from vile, to rapturous. And visions. Visions strange and grotesque  
  
surged through his dying brain, mingled with those of his own life.  
  
Mulder. Kennedy. King. The Project. The Aliens. Ray, Samantha,  
  
Cassandra,Oswald,ColquittScullyKrycekFBIAliensCigarettesNicholsBloodThePr  
  
ojectDiviaPompeiiHooverToronto  
  
theraventheguidejanettenicholasnightcrawlthedoorontokingennedykaraloodcul  
  
lyallpoxpackofmorleysssssssss  
  
blooooooooooooooooooooooddd..  
  
He awoke, at once sensitive to a difference. Though it was dark, the  
  
shadows were not dim to his eyes. He felt a hand on his, and was lifted  
  
to his feet. His feet! He could stand. He raised his hands to his face.  
  
It felt whole. Restored. The hole in his throat was gone, too. He could  
  
breathe! He filled his lungs with air, deeply drawing it in. The pain in  
  
them was almost gone.  
  
"I...what has..."  
  
"Steady on, " said the voice, and he looked at the speaker. He was  
  
tall, about 6' 4", and had blondish, receding hair. His face was like a  
  
marble statue, and his eyes...  
  
"What has happened to me?" He looked down. "I'm well. I was dying."  
  
He focused on his benefactor, and recognition dawned in his eyes..  
  
"You've come back. Kept your promise." He felt a hunger begin to stir. A  
  
hunger, and a thirst. The sound of a heartbeat began to thrum, roaring in  
  
his ears. "I'm thirsty."  
  
"But of course," said LaCroix, and took him to another room. There,  
  
insensate in a chair, was a man. Without thinking, instinctively knowing,  
  
he felt his fangs drop, and was on the mortal in a blur. He sank his  
  
teeth into him, and felt the man's life-force explode into his newly  
  
transformed body. He felt the thoughts, he felt the succulence...  
  
He felt the power!  
  
After the mortal fell dead, another was as quickly produced, and as  
  
quickly drained. Then, a bottle was put into his hand, and he drank on.  
  
He drained five bottles, till at last his hunger was calmed, and he came  
  
back to his senses. He stared a few moments at his savior, and felt his  
  
mind clear and his memories begin to return.  
  
"You...came back," said the now Cancer-Free Man. "You kept your  
  
word, LaCroix."  
  
"Of course. I told you I would come. LaCroix always keeps his word,  
  
Charles. But now it is time to go." LaCroix picked up the dead male, and  
  
positioned him near the overturned wheelchair. Then, taking a lighter  
  
from his pocket, he found a newspaper, rolled it up, and lit it. "No  
  
point in leaving needless traces." He tossed the firebrand onto a chair  
  
next to a curtain, and watched it begin to burn. "Come."  
  
"Tell me, LaCroix. One thing. Why? Why did you do it?"  
  
"I told you, Charles. I gave my word. And..." He took his newest  
  
child out of the burning house, and grasped his hand.  
  
"And?"  
  
"And," said LaCroix, with the hint of a knowing smile as fire burst  
  
through a window, "you are important to the equation. You have said it  
  
yourself, often enough. The Project must go forward." And with that,  
  
Master and fledgling took to the sky. 


End file.
